The Demon in the Pines
by DuckofIndeed
Summary: The little town of Dromer was a truly boring place, where there was absolutely nothing to pass the time but stories and superstitions about the pine woods in which they lived. And it was at this time, as she awaited the day she would eventually leave her home since birth to venture out into a world she had only heard about, that Wren had yet to learn to fear the woods.
1. Chapter 1: Baskets

My original idea for this story was rather short, and then I thought I could make it into a pretty neat novel (at least, novel is what I'm aiming for), but I'm not going to really say much of what it will be about. I want it to be a surprise. And while my story has a decent number of original characters (the most OC-based fan fiction I have yet to write), there will be a substantial amount of Ghirahim-goodness later on. So don't you fret!

Anyway, I am working on this at the same time as a Ratchet and Clank novel, so I may be a bit slow to update….

Ghirahim, most locations (save Dromer), and various creatures and other such things are property of Nintendo. Wren, Lilli, Boar, and the other various townsfolk are property of me.

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><p><strong>The Demon in the Pines<strong>

**Chapter 1: Baskets**

Dromer was about as far out in the boondocks as one could get. Tiny and isolated, it was even less well known than its closest neighbor, Ordon Village, which could at least be praised for the quality of its goat cheese and milk, if that was even really something to be praised over. Nestled in the outskirts of Faron Woods, on the southern foothills of the mountain range that was home to the dreaded Death Mountain, the only thing that ever put this backwater place on the map was when its residents would send out their various wares on the rare caravan, their goods consisting of skins and furs, the local blacksmith's tools and weapons, and whatever other crafts its people created.

Yes, that was the only way that anyone was aware this place even existed, when it actually came to their attention just where these things came from in the first place. Because Dromer was a _boring_ village, a place so uneventful, the only exciting thing that ever happened was when caravans occasionally brought news of the outside world or when a moblin decided to wander too close to town.

And then there were the stories, though anyone with any sense had to know they were just that, stories, mere superstitions, a thing that seemed all too common in small villages such as this, surely because this was likely the only way the townspeople could make this place even _remotely_ interesting. There were many stories, all revolving around the pine woods, the most cited being the belief that a demon resided somewhere deep in the forest, a rumor that started long ago and had still not died down. To this day, hunters would report hearing laughter, sometimes even raucous giggling, way out where no one had any right to be, while others argued it was sobbing they heard, though they said the sound, as mournful as it was, chilled the blood more than anything. And that was only when people returned from the woods in the first place.

But, such fools' tales were easily explained, even if most of the villagers didn't agree. For one thing, this particular neck of the woods where the demon was said to reside was already known for being haunted, as it lay in a valley where fog would collect, the same fog that also conjured up supposed ghost sightings, not to mention the fact that the drifting lights of the blue bubbles and the bloodcurdling howls of the wolfos in that area were also quite well-suited to inducing hallucinations of terror. And the second reason why these were just stories stemmed from the fact that hunters would sometimes get drunk before trekking out into the woods, where they would no doubt imagine the sounds they had heard. And when people were dragged off by moblins or had the misfortune, or the clumsiness, to fall down the steep slopes that pervaded the woods, or when they simply got too lost to find their way back, who could say which deaths were caused by the supposed "demon" or pure foolishness?

No, nothing interesting _ever_ happened in this village, not when the stories were surely fake and when anything that actually _mattered_ happened, it took place many miles away. And that was why Wrendale, the blacksmith's youngest daughter and involuntary apprentice, had no choice but to one day travel to Hyrule Castle, where she would become a soldier and go on to see the world. She had turned fifteen several months ago, after all, and when she had asked the caravan driver last he was here, he said they accepted people into the Hyrule Castle Royal Guard as early as sixteen And when that day came, Wren would escape from this place, and she would never come back. There was nothing left for her here anyway. Not anymore.

And it was at this time, as she awaited the day she would eventually leave her home since birth to venture out into a world she had only heard about, that Wren had yet to learn to fear the woods.

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><p>Wren was currently sitting on her bed, cross-legged despite the dusty boots that still adorned her feet, as she picked at the fibers of a half-made basket she was hunched over, more in seemingly vacant thought than in concentration. While she had retreated to her room several hours ago once her father's hawk-eyed attention grew to be more than she could stand, she had since given up on weaving the fibers any further into the ever-widening spiral she had been working on. The basket was really much too shallow to be a basket anyway. If anything, it was more like a slightly concave plate, so what point was there in expending any more effort on it when she had already failed in her work anyway?<p>

And it wasn't as if her father needed any more reasons to point out her apparent incompetence, a pastime she swore he enjoyed about as much as he delighted in nagging at her to do chores she planned on getting to later. She began to tug at the basket fibers, and when this didn't bring about the satisfaction she desired, she started to pull them in the opposite direction as she began to unravel her own, hideous creation.

"Wren, I think your basket looks fine."

"Huh?" Her attention turned to one fiber and then the next, pulling them loose until the end of the weave began to look even more ragged than ever as her rough treatment started to make some of the fibers split down their middles.

"Wren, stop it. Just stop and tell me what's wrong _this_ time. I know you get destructive when you're cross."

Her head jerked up, and she pushed sloppy, muddy brown hair out of her face (its unremarkable color was courtesy of her father, unfortunately, not that she cared for the attention her sister's dirty blonde hair afforded her). "Nothing's wrong."

Lillia smiled at her from the bed that stood against the wall adjacent. A third bed used to occupy the wall across from Wren's. And on her elder sister's lap rested a basket of alternating colors, built up to resemble a sphere with the top cut off.

In fact, the braids arranged in a most elaborate fashion on her head almost resembled the woven fibers her basket contained. How pleased it made their father that Lilli _was_ actually talented in some areas, even though she was two years older than Wren and would be getting married soon anyway, and thus, had no need for such methods of supporting herself when she could have a _man_ do it for her. No, _she_ was going to be a housewife. How fitting for such a dull village as this.

"Come now," her sister said, fingers moving in a meticulous manner as they wove the various fibers of her basket, extending its delicate curves just a little further with each movement. "We used to talk more. If you would just tell me what's on your mind, then maybe I could help you."

"We _never_ used to talk."

Lilli's hands grew still, and blue eyes rose to meet her younger sister's brown ones, smile gone slack to make way for a sternness her sister really had no right to direct at her. "Yes, I know we were never really close. Not since we were little, at least. But, we still used to talk more than we do now. Ever since—"

Wren's attention dropped back down to whatever it was she had made, and she resumed her fruitless picking. "If you don't mind, I'm busy making a plate. Out of grass." She held her unfinished creation out before her. "You can use it as an oversized pot rest. Even if it'll probably just catch on fire."

"Things don't catch on fire just because you put something hot on them."

At this, Wren pulled her self-proclaimed pot rest to her chest and held it close. "Good. It'll work, then."

Lilli sighed and shook her head as she returned to her work. "Always so touchy."

"How am I touchy? I was agreeing with you."

"Never mind."

"Don't call me names when I wasn't even doing anything."

"Just drop it, okay?"

Wren continued to watch her, and she pressed her lips in a straight line before she blew out and shook her head when a stray hair tickled her nose. "Boar's birthday is in a few days, you know."

"I _do_ know that. That's all you've been talking about lately. When you actually talk, that is."

"But, father still refuses to do anything about it."

"Is _that_ why you left the smithy early today?"

"No."

"Because as much as you hate working towards becoming a blacksmith, I thought you hated basket weaving, as well. Something about it being boring and pointless, and you think your fingers are too bulky for it. And yet, here you are, weaving the finest…plate in all of Ordon Province."

"One, _Boar_ said my fingers were too bulky, and two, as horrible as basket weaving is, being a blacksmith is ten times worse. It's hot and tiring and…father's there."

"And whenever you two get in a fight, you come running back to me."

Wren's gaze shot back up. "That's not—"

"And I can only assume you must've gotten into another war over what to do about Eriboar's birthday, and that's why you came back here, and in a prickly mood, none other." Lilli directed a sagely grin at her younger sister's sour frown.

"That's _not_ what happened."

Lilli threw her arms into the air, and her basket rolled onto its side. "Stop lying, Wren. I know you better than that." She set the basket aside and rose, only to sit back down on her sister's bed.

"Go away!"

Wren leaned away as her sister went about smoothing her skirts down. When Lilli failed to obey, she attempted to stand, only to be prevented from doing so when her sister wrapped her arms around her and pulled her face into her shoulder.

"Lilli, stop it!" Wren said in a muffled tone and braced her hands against her sister's arms in an effort to pull away, the flat basket falling to the sheets between them.

"Wren, I know how close you and Eriboar were, but you have to understand that it's just too soon."

"It's been half a year," she said into her sister's sleeve. She smelled like soap.

"Yes, but you know how hard his…his disappearance was on Father, and it's obviously still difficult for you, too."

"I'm fine."

"Stop trying to act tough, Wren. You skipped your _own_ birthday after it happened."

"That _was_ too soon."

"So you must be able to see that celebrating his birthday…when he's not even going to be here to enjoy it with us, is going to be more than a little awkward."

"I'm going to wipe my nose on you if you don't let go."

"Wren…"

"I'll do it. I've done it before."

Wren straightened once Lilli released her and rubbed a back that had gotten rather twisted in that unnecessary show of affection. Her sister folded her hands in her lap, and it was all Wren could do to refrain from rolling her eyes at the understanding expression she was directing at her.

"You were right," Lilli said. "We _don't_ ever talk. Not about what matters. Especially not about what happened. Maybe it would help you to cope if you just got your feelings out into the open."

Wren unfolded her legs and slung her feet over the side of the bed. "There's nothing to talk about. There's nothing to _cope_ with. I don't have a choice. All I can do is _deal_ with it." She set her feet on the floor and stood, looking down at Lilli as she continued, "But, I'm not going to forget about our brother just because Father wants to."

"That's not what he's trying to do! Wren, get back here!"

She continued her march towards the door, and once she reached it, only then did she spin about to say, "And you may as well finish up…" she swung a hand at the not-basket on the bed, "_that_. Because I think I've butchered it enough already."

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><p>I know a lot hasn't happened yet, but I'm pretty proud of this story and how it's coming along so far. This story is quite unique for me, as it's not often my main character is my own creation, and I very much hope you keep reading and enjoy my little tale.<p>

And by the way, the name of the village is loosely based off of the Gaelic word for "mystery". Anyway, please review and tell me your thoughts so far.


	2. Chapter 2: Boys

Behold another chapter of character development, whether or not you consider that a good thing. Along with more words based off of things I've found in a Gaelic dictionary, because I can. I know _I_ was quite pleased with this chapter, especially since original characters are really not my strong suit.

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: Boys<strong>

Wren opened the door and stomped out of the room, stopping only when she had reached the stairs to listen out for any sign of her father below, and when all remained quiet, she continued down old, worn steps that creaked beneath her weight as she descended them. She arrived in a small room with a round table that would lean if it weren't for the piece of wood set beneath one leg, surrounded by chairs, the original four already reduced to three, set near a stove and counters with dishes and cups stacked neatly, among other supplies needed for cooking and eating, just as Lilli liked them. A door off to the side led to Father's room.

She made her way to the coat hooks and slung on a jacket over her tunic before heading outside to deal with chores she had put off since yesterday, that she would have more time for had father actually allowed for such a thing. How could she focus on collecting firewood and water from the well and all manner of other things when she was forced to work in that stupid smithy all day? When she didn't leave early once she could no longer stand him, that is, but that was _his_ fault, not hers.

He claimed it was for her own good, that, for whatever reason, if she was to be a soldier one day, she ought to learn how to forge her own weapons, as that was apparently the best way to learn how to use them. Which it wasn't. _Practicing_ with them was, which she no longer had much time for and which was rather difficult when her arms were far too sore from hammering away at hunks of metal for her to even _think_ about wielding a sword. But, she practiced when she _was_ able, with a sword she had made herself, working on her form and technique out in the woods where no one could tease her, saying look how hard Wren is trying to become a boy, maybe that's why she's starting to look like one, or to avoid the disapproving looks the adults gave her at not fitting in to the mold decided on for her since birth.

She would _not_ grow up to be a housewife. She would _not_ have children and cook and clean and knit socks, and she would _not_ weave baskets just because Mother did or become a blacksmith just because Father forced it on her. Those respective roles fit her older siblings just fine, but she was not them. She was Wren. Not Lilli. Not Boar. And certainly not her father or the silly townsfolk that were so content to live out dull, pointless existences doing whatever everyone else decided on for them.

Boar understood this. He knew who she was. Not just a teenage girl, or a tomboy, and not even just his youngest sister. Just Wren, who hunted with him and sparred with him and who aided him in all kinds of mischief because that's the kind of people they were. That's what they enjoyed doing, and it was okay that she was a girl. It didn't matter to him. Not one bit. And though he would beat up those that picked on her, it didn't mean she didn't pay him back in other ways, as she was the more crafty of the two and good at getting back at those that bugged him in her own, less obvious ways. Because he wasn't there to rescue her from her troubles like she was a helpless, little girl. He wasn't there to belittle her and give her knowledge about the world like she was a child. They were a team. Equals. He was fine with her just as she was.

And then, one day, like all boys had to do, he accepted a bet, a completely idiotic bet where they dared him to go out into the woods, deep into the pines where the majority of superstitions originated from, and bring back the skull of a blue bubble. He wasn't afraid, he said, and why should he be when that place was no more haunted than the inside of his boot? But, it was still stupid, because everyone knew that people _did_ go missing out there, and she told him that he'd probably be mauled by a pack of wolfos, but he went anyway, and she and his friends watched him stride out into the woods that very night, armed with a sword of his own design, as he was a blacksmith, as well, and she couldn't ignore the knot in her gut or the sneaking suspicion that she had smelled alcohol on his breath.

That was the last time she saw him, when he looked back once more over his shoulder to direct a toothy grin at them before he was lost to the night. And then lost for good.

That's why boys were stupid.

That's why her own brother was, as well, because all men, all _boys_, were so obsessed with proving their own manhood, as if anyone but them really _cared_, that they would trek out into the woods alone in the middle of the night, drunk, without a second thought. Because they were such idiots, that they'd be willing to leave their little sister behind, who they supposedly loved, just for their own foolish pride. Why had _that_ meant so much to him? They were a team; why did her advice mean nothing?

Wren kicked the ground, only to cough when she stirred up a cloud of dust. But, she didn't need him. She never needed him. She could take care of herself, and she _would_, too. Once her father stopped pushing her around. Boar had thrown his life away, while Lilli was soon to squander hers in the same way all silly girls do, with their frilly dresses and goofy hairstyles, not to mention a whole pack of screaming children. And Father, he could do whatever he wanted with his life. It didn't matter one bit to her, because soon she would have a life they would all secretly envy (Boar would have, too, if he was still around to do so).

She would see things they would only dream about and meet interesting people that knew about more than just how to skin a deer or fletch an arrow. She would be one of the few from this village to actually _live_. It was not often people left this place for any extended period of time, but _she_ would. She would put this whole, rotten bit of her life behind her, and she would never look back. There was no reason to return when she would have so many more interesting places to go and when the people here did nothing but condemn her for being different anyway.

She would've stayed here for Boar. He was content to be a blacksmith like Father. He believed he would forge swords of such quality that he wouldn't need to go out and see the world because his fine craftsmanship would bring the world to _them_. He would make this sad, little village into something truly spectacular, he had told her on more than one occasion, and while she had her doubts, she really hoped his words were true. And maybe what he had said _could_ have come to pass, if he didn't ignore her warning and give in to the prodding of his friends.

She didn't talk to them, now that Boar was gone. They were responsible for what he did, almost as much as _he_ was. Plus, she knew they only had a grudging tolerance for her on account of the fact that Boar thought so highly of her. And he would break their noses and make them squeal like little girls if they ever messed with his little sister and best buddy in the whole wide woods. That's what he had said, and that was one thing she _never_ doubted. He had meant it, that they were best pals, even if he had abandoned her as he did just so he could look like a big shot to his friends, but that's how boys were. She couldn't fault him, not entirely, at least, for having the same obnoxious ego they all were too quick to flaunt.

Wren went about her usual chores for the day, which included collecting more firewood for the impending winter, which were always long and brutal affairs out here in the mountains, and she splashed her face, now hot and dusty with her toils despite the cool air, with water she had collected from the well before bringing the rest home for that evening's dinner. Once inside, the air smelling fishy as something sizzled in a covered pan on the stove, she gave a grunt in response to Lilli's greeting and dropped the bucket on the table, some of its contents spilling over the edges, before peeling her jacket off to return it to its usual spot. Her sister spun about at the racket the bucket made, the movement of her long skirt continuing even after she went still, before putting a fist to her hip, expression turning strict when she saw the mess on the table.

"Wren…" Her fist dropped to her side again, and she proceeded to move the bucket to the floor and wipe the table dry with the dishtowel.

"It's just water," Wren said as she went about wiping the dust from her hands onto her tunic.

"It'll leave stains."

"But, it's just _water_." She started to head for her room, stopping in her tracks, however, when Lilli straightened again to direct the expression she had just given the table at her, both fists now at her waist.

"And wash up, Wren. You're filthy. And change that shirt."

"I'm not going to be eating my shirt."

Dropping the towel on the table, Lilli bent down to grab the bucket, grasping the handle with both hands as she shuffled over to her younger sister. "Take this. Wash your hands…in the _wash_ basin, not right out of the bucket; don't look at me like that, I know you've done that more than once before. Then, bring it back. Okay? Is that too much to handle?"

Wren grinned. "So I don't have to change my shirt, then?"

Her sister remained unimpressed. "Wash hands. Change shirt. Come back. Easy. And if you skip something, Father might just have to spank you."

Her expression turned sour, and she took notice of how Lilli's arms were beginning to shake. "You'll need stronger arms that that once you're married. I bet babies are pretty heavy." She snatched the bucket from her, making a point of carrying it away with one hand. She supposed _some_ good came from working as a blacksmith's apprentice. And punching people in the nose had since become far more effective.

"And don't forget to get under your nails!" Lilli added.

"I can't! Too many instructions to remember!"

Wren largely did as she was told, in slow motion, even taking the water upstairs to the basin in their room when she could have just used the one in the bathroom downstairs. She washed her hands, with water only, as the soap was in the bathroom, plus Lilli didn't specify such a detail, and she only put half an effort into washing under her short, scraggly nails. And she did indeed change into a new tunic, tossing the old one onto the pile in the corner that she refused to pick up, as she wanted to see how long Lilli would last before giving in and doing it herself.

She dumped the basin water out, and directed a grin at the boy whose narrowed gaze shot up at her when he ended up with one wet pant leg. It was one of Boar's old friends, in fact, and he knew better than to tattle. Not since the last time she had kneed him in a rather personal place. She tittered at him in a most obvious fashion, knowing full well that his pals would now accuse him of wetting himself if he was unable to return home unseen, before retreating back inside when he directed a few profanities at her. If old Mrs. Cieala was still out and about, she'd whack him good for what he had just said.

Her renewed cheer was dampened (not unlike Petro's pants, oh, Wren, that was a good one), however, when she returned downstairs, bucket in hand, to find her father and sister already at the table, the plates set before them bearing the trout father had caught that day, much less on Lilli's plate than his (she was dieting before her wedding, even when she was already as thin as a sapling). They looked over as she reached the bottom of the stairs, the vigor in her steps now greatly reduced, and her father raised an eyebrow at her presence.

She raised the bucket higher, saying, "I've brought water."

Receiving no response, she marched past them in a rather stiff fashion before pouring much of the water into a glass pitcher set upon the counter. Spirals of color adorned its surface, the reason why Lilli had fallen in love with it the moment the traveling salesman had pulled it out of his caravan. He knew just what to show off, and to whom, allowing him to, at one time or another, lighten the pockets of nearly every fool in the village.

Picking up the glass pitcher, she turned on one heel, her father already holding his glass out, and she moved to fill it, while his gaze was, thankfully, not directed at her, but more off at nothing in an obvious sign of his current pensiveness. She did the same for Lilli's glass and then her own, her place settings arranged for her while she had been dilly dallying upstairs. She set the pitcher down on the table and sat, before reaching for the large dish set in the middle of the table to impale two pieces of fish with a large fork to aid in their transition to her plate, taking great care not to look her father in the eyes as she did so.

She tried quite often, in fact, not to look at him, as she so often didn't like what she saw in his expression, but that face still made its way into her mind, nevertheless, like he had a way of projecting his displeasure into her thoughts even when he wasn't around. That stern, rough face with the wild hair pulled back into a short ponytail, his beard split into three. It was a face she couldn't forget, no matter how hard she tried. It was a face, whether real or imagined, that she never saw smile.

Her head jerked up, heart set into a rapid drumbeat, as her father spoke, his voice deep and booming, even with the soft tone he normally kept it in, which somehow did little to make it any less commanding.

"Lillia tells me you were quite a mess when you returned home this evening. I can only assume that means you got around to getting your work done."

She nodded, watching him as he broke off a piece of fish, skin and all, with his fingers and put it in his mouth. Now that she was looking directly at him for the first time this evening, she couldn't take her eyes off him.

"You watered the garden?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you collected more firewood?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you fed the chickens?"

"Yes, sir."

"You know you must feed the chickens daily."

"Yes, sir."

"It's okay. I-I got to it yesterday, Father," Lilli said. "I always do it…when Wren…"

"That's fine," he said, before turning his attention back to his dinner. When it was clear the conversation, if that's what it could be called, had reached its end, Wren found herself exchanging glances with her sister before they both returned to meals of their own.

The rest of dinner was spent in silence except for the sound of forks on metal and the dull clink whenever a glass was set down. Despite her hunger, Wren ate slowly, as she wasn't sure what to do if she finished too early, the fish tender and the edges of the skin crispy, the only part of the skin she cared to eat. Her father ate anything. Like a moblin. She was a bit more picky. _Too_ picky, according to Lilli, but she was one to talk. _She_ didn't eat to begin with.

Once dinner was finished, Lilli worked on the dishes, while Wren got to lighting candles to shoo away the approaching darkness that threatened to engulf them as the last rays of sunlight slipped over the horizon, nightfall being a time when all but those with trouble in mind stayed inside, as if they believed the creatures of the forest might lose their earlier restraint to stalk only the trees outside their village and come in. Nighttime belonged to the woods, and only fools didn't know better than to respect that.

Their father resigned himself to his armchair by the fireplace for some silent reflection on the day's events, pipe in mouth, its smoke filling the room with an earthen scent that seemed to stir up the remnants of memories all but forgotten in Wren's earliest years, only a feeling remaining of times when things were better, when she still had two parents, and Boar hadn't yet become another victim of the pine woods. And it brought back actual memories, vibrant memories that didn't include their mother, but it did involve the days before Lilli had become such a girly-girl, and the three of them would laugh and scream outside, running amongst the trees in games of tag that would send Lilli into a panic over her hatred of being chased, even if it was all just for fun.

And they would pick wild berries, coming home stained almost from head to toe, leaving father to bathe them and rack his brain over how to get the stains out of their clothes. He eventually had to settle for seeking help from Mrs. Cieala the first few times, as the old woman had a remedy Lilli still called a miracle in how it could remove the toughest stains, a secret she had yet to crack, and Mrs. Cieala wasn't sharing, stating quite bluntly that it was one bit of knowledge she was taking with her to her grave. But, once Father could no longer justify pestering her time and time again to do his children's laundry, he attempted dozens of combinations of his own "secret blend", trying different kinds of soaps, along with more desperate efforts that included alcohol and various potions, among other things.

None of this worked; some of them, in fact, actually made the stains worse, and in the end, they had several sets of clothing that were designated for berry-picking, their clean clothes to forever be dubbed as "forbidden" whenever they were planning on participating in such a messy task. Of course, Father would have preferred it if they never picked berries in the first place, but after Boar (it really _was_ Boar's idea…most of the time) coaxed them into it enough times, Father finally just gave up scolding them.

But, things were no longer the same. Those carefree days were long gone, and now all Wren seemed to do was annoy her father. Even back then, when they got along, he never smiled, but he still played with her, gave her piggyback rides, and read to her while she sat on his lap. But, now it just felt like he put up with her. She felt…tolerated. Like he was waiting her out, until the day she would be gone, and he would no longer have anyone to be disappointed in. She couldn't help who she was. She wasn't trying to "fray his nerves", as he said. She was just being who she was, and there shouldn't be any punishment for that. Lilli was lucky that her personality just happened to coincide with what Father expected. Wren's did not. It wasn't her fault, though, so why did he have to act like it was?

She returned to her room with a single candle and changed into a long, plain nightgown, her second tunic of the day returned to their shared wardrobe, at the bottom of which she found the baskets they had worked on earlier that day. Wren slammed the wardrobe shut at the mere sight of her own. (And the tunic didn't get worn much that day, so there was no need to wash it. She wasn't dirty.)

She blew out the candle left beside the silly glass flower Lilli kept on the small, round table in the corner between their beds before crawling under the sheets, where she then proceeded to stare at the ceiling with her arms folded over her stomach. Another day closer to Boar's birthday, and neither of them planned on doing a thing about it. They had to care about him, didn't they? Wren couldn't be the only one. So why was she the only one bothering to show it?

The door opened, and she rolled onto her side to face the wall before Lilli could even request that she don't look, and she heard a rustling as her sister got changed into her own nightgown, a silly thing she knew to be decorated with a flower print about as bad as her dresses with the lace and the bows. She didn't change positions, however, even after she heard her sister get into her own bed, nor did she so much as budge when Lilli spoke in the soft voice people always seemed obligated to use in the dark.

"Just a couple months more until the wedding. I hope I fit in Mother's dress. I've been trying to stay trim, but I'm still unsure if…if my hips might be a bit too big."

"Maybe it's just your butt that's too big."

"Wren!"

"You're thinner than I am. It'll probably be too baggy on you." Lilli was two years her elder, and yet she was still thinner. But, Wren wasn't going to starve herself just to look nice for a boy. They should like her just as she was, brown hair and slightly bulbous nose and all. It wasn't as if _they_ were actually anything worth looking at.

"Well, I'd rather it be too big than too tight. When the big day's almost here, Mrs. Cieala can always bring it in a bit."

"And tell me, _why_ does she feel the need to play Mother to every person here? Can't _you_ sew?" Wren asked with her eyes directed over her shoulder, even if it only gave her a view of the ceiling rather than the person she was speaking to.

"Well, for one thing, Mrs. Cieala has no children, so that probably accounts for some of it."

"And she likes to butt in."

"And two, a bride can't work on her own dress. That's the one time in her life when everyone has to treat her like a princess. A girl's wedding is the most magical day of her life, and she needs to spend it, and the weeks proceeding it, being pampered."

"Does Princess Zelda know you're trying to replace her?" Wren said, sniggering at the corniness of her sister's words.

"Wren, can't you ever be serious? This is important to me. You know I've always wanted to get married, ever since I was a little girl. I planned out what flowers I wanted, and how my hair would look, and I even decided long ago that I'd have my wedding in winter, when all the trees are glistening and the ground is blanketed in a shimmering sheet of snow as white as my dress. It would just be so…"

"I know, you think such nonsense is romantic, even if it only makes _me_ want to puke. But, don't you know that _every_ girl dreams about her wedding? It's not like it's something only _you_ have fantasized about. I don't see what's so special about wishing for the same thing as everyone else."

"The same thing as everyone but you."

Wren grumbled and attempted to burrow further into the sheets, as she knew full well where this conversation was leading. And _she_ had inadvertently directed it there. Maybe sometimes she just needed to give her big mouth a rest.

"Wren…"

She groaned. It was never good when Lilli's voice took on the sing-song quality such as what she had just injected into that one, single word.

"Wren, I know you'll like boys one day."

"Shut up!" Wren said into her pillow.

"You're a bit of a late bloomer, but it'll happen. Believe me, I know."

"But, you're a _girl_?"

"And what are _you_?" Lilli asked, laughter in her voice, only setting Wren's teeth on edge all the more.

"I'm not like you! I'm _not_ going to become all boy-crazy! And besides, you started getting obsessed with them when you were twelve, and I'm three years beyond that, and I still don't see the appeal."

"You can't avoid it. It'll sneak up on you, and before you know what hit you, you'll have a boyfriend, and he'll be the only thing you'll think about."

Wren growled, the tone of her voice dropping. "Yes. I'll think only about him and the day I neuter him."

Lilli burst into laughter, and Wren flipped onto her back and shot into a sitting position to glare at her older sister, a glare that the recipient likely could hardly see in the darkness, but one which Wren could only hope she could feel.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"It's nothing!" But, considering Lilli's laughter hadn't yet abated, one hand still held to her face to cover her mouth, that was obviously a bold-faced lie.

"What is it?" Wren said again, voice rising before she could wonder if Father might hear.

She waited as her sister's laughter began to die down, Lilli's body only quivering for a few moments more as her unjustified mirth left her. Recovered, her hand returned to the one that had just been clutching her stomach, a smile on her face that was clearer now that Wren's eyes had fully adjusted to the darkness.

"Oh, Wren," she began, "do you always have to be so…intense? I'm just joking with you. And besides, what's so terrible about me liking boys? At least I like _someone_. You, on the other hand, don't seem to like anyone."

"And now, thanks to your great love of humanity, you're about to marry the world's biggest goon."

Now _that_ was enough to wipe the smile off her face. "Wren, what have I told you about teasing Glain? He's the sweetest man in the world, and I'm lucky to have him."

"His mustache curls at the ends, Lilli. His mustache actually has its own smile."

"Well, _I_ think it makes him look quite handsome."

"And he wears a feather in his hat. Dyed bright red."

Lilli's glare increased. "And _that's_ what makes him so dashing. Wren, he is a wonderful man, and I will not have you talking about him this way. He secured my love for him the day he made me that glass rose, and my heart has been his ever since."

"More proof that he's a dandy. And how typical of you that you'd fall head over heels over a glassblower."

Lilli sat up and pulled the sheets away from her feet before crawling over to the table the two of them shared, while Wren eased herself onto her stomach and watched her. Her sister picked up with both hands the necklace she wore everyday beneath her dress, comprised of a glass ring around a simple cord, and held it, now nestled in the palms of her hands, before her.

"You see this, Wren?"

With no amount of finesse, Wren folded both arms in front of her and rested her chin upon them. "Yeah."

"Glain made me this engagement ring, and even though it doesn't contain any gems or gold or silver, it's still the most precious thing in the world because he made it for me. I just hope _you_ can find someone that cares about you as much as Glain does for me. But, I know you _never_ will if you won't allow it."

Wren pulled in a deep breath before letting it out again. "That's easy for _you_ to say. _You_ act the way people want you to. But, I'm not going to change who I am just so people approve of me."

"I'm not saying you have to." Lilli put the necklace back down on the table. "You just need to learn to open up more, and then people will have a much easier time accepting you. When you act so…cranky all the time, people have a way of acting that way right back."

Wren sniffed, her eyes dropping down to the pillow. "I'm not cranky. And our own father doesn't even approve of me, so why would anyone else?"

"He does. He's just not good at showing it. Especially when you can be…difficult."

She rolled onto her side to face the wall again, while the creaking behind her indicated Lilli to be retreating back under her own sheets again. "I'm not difficult," she said into one of the arms she had tucked under her pillow.

"Yes, you are, and you know it, seeing as you seem to try so hard to be that way."

"I'm not. It just comes out that way. When other people start stuff."

"Go to sleep," Lilli said.

"_You_ go to sleep."

She heard a single sigh, then all was quiet again, nighttime regaining the silence it usually demanded, but Wren couldn't sleep, as she couldn't help but fret over her sister's words and how unlikely they seemed. Maybe someday people would accept her for who she was, just as Boar had, but not here, not in this tiny, close-minded village where people only approved of what was safe and familiar to them.

Fear of the unknown had become a part of their daily lives. It had sunk deep into their very souls. And it made sense when it pertained to the woods, but not when they feared someone else just because that person was different. Well, maybe no one actually _feared_ her, but they didn't like her because she couldn't be so neatly sorted away into a box like everyone else could.

And that's why this place was so very boring, not just the village itself, but the people that lived in it. Boar had been a free spirit like her, and that's why they understood each other so well, but now that he was gone, Wren could only embrace the unknown, not cower away from it. Because the familiar things in life were what caused her pain, and she could only wait for and daydream about the day where she would finally find what was missing, that her brother was no longer around to fill.

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><p>Ghirahim <em>is<em> going to appear in this story. I promise.

Please review.


	3. Chapter 3: The Tumble

The story will start getting somewhere soon….

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: The Tumble<strong>

Several days went by, filled with the sweat and exhaustion of toiling away in the smithy, with Father's dagger-like gaze on her back whenever he felt the need to check and make sure she was doing her work correctly, which she was; she wasn't stupid. Or the monotony of her myriad of chores, always ending with a trip to the well to bring back water before dinner. Or the sickening crooning Lilli would spout over her precious Glain, when she wasn't simply absent entirely to spend the day with him while Wren was kept busy with tasks that would only increase in number once her elder sister was no longer around to do her share. And each day that rolled around was largely identical to the one that came before, save for one difference.

Today was the day of Boar's birthday, and no one but her seemed to care.

As was customary for one whose father seemed to take pleasure in their misery, Wren was currently in the middle of hammering away at the head of an axe, sweat running down her forehead and her back aching with the effort. She would never get used to this kind of work. He could say it as many times as he wanted, but she wouldn't.

Nevertheless, each blow she landed contained a vigor she didn't normally possess, while her teeth were set in a silent snarl that was not actually directed at the thing her eyes were focused on. She drew her arm back and struck the axe head once more in an unnecessarily vicious manner, before her head shot over to where Father stood on the other side of the room, hunched over an anvil of his own as he worked on a new sword for Dalyx, whose son had stolen and broken his old one after the doofus had mistaken a boulder for a Goron one night (the villagers had yet to figure out why exactly he had such a fear of Gorons, however, especially when they rarely ever came to their village).

She watched him, trying her hardest to replicate the gaze he had become quite good at, that one could feel before they even knew he was in the room, but it seemed she hadn't quite mastered it yet, as the clanging of metal on metal continued, a sound that she would sometimes hear reverberating about in her head until late in the night, as if it had somehow crawled in through her ears to take up residence within her very skull.

"Father." Her voice surely went unheard, however, coming out in a whisper barely audible in such a noisy room, but whether that was due to nerves or a dry mouth, well, she was admitting to nothing.

"Father…" She tried again, louder this time, though at a volume she still expected to become lost in the racket he was creating.

"Get back to work, Wrendale."

She jumped as he spoke, though no evidence that he had actually done so caught her eye, as he continued on as if there had been no interruption in his focus.

"Father, why can't we do anything for Boar's birthday? It's getting late, and we're running out of time, and…" She trailed off when he went still, though his gaze continued to linger on the blade before him.

"We went over this. And I'm not discussing it with you again."

"But, _why_?"

She flinched as his gaze, that was somehow capable of making her feel guilty even when she was behaving herself, landed upon her, the intensity of the blue eyes that stood out from the dark of his hair enough to make her own gaze drop to her boots.

"It's just…it feels weird not doing anything," she told the floor. "We celebrate his birthday every year, and I know he's gone, but…"

"Enough."

Her head rose, but only because she could feel his eyes leave her, and she found him again looking down at the blade, and she bit her lower lip.

"Why can't I ever say what I want to?" she said, the words growing louder again now that she wasn't being watched.

"The problem is you say _everything_ you want to. We've discussed this over and over again, and my answer won't change. And all that matters is you heed it, not understand it."

Wren's hands clenched into fists. "That's all well and good for you, but I just can't get over how it seems like you're trying to erase Boar from our memories!" Had she just yelled? Her father's head made a slow turn, one eye landing upon her, but she had already set in motion her own destruction, so she might as well see it through to the end. "But, he…he was my brother, and you aren't going to take him away from me!"

She had begun to lean forward, as if to project her words and make them into something more meaningful than if she had said them in a normal stance, though her Father took the opposite approach, standing straight like a bear rising to its full height. Maybe she should finish up while she still could.

"And…and…you know what, soon, all of us will be gone! That's right! Boar's dead, Lilli's getting married, and then…then it'll just be you and me! And we'll be stuck together until I turn sixteen and can get away from you! And I won't come back, and…" For some reason, tears began to stream down her face, and she wiped them away.

"Wrendale…"

"I don't want to forget about Boar," she said. Even if _he_ did. Even if he may very well forget about all of them once they were gone.

She spun to face the door and stalked away as he repeated her name once more, but then she was outside, sniffling and rubbing away more tears that she couldn't seem to stop with the palms of her hands. Finding herself heading further into town, she jerked around and headed in the opposite direction, to the pine woods, where no one could see the village tomboy bawling like a girl. She caught, through blurred vision, someone rounding the corner of the house nearby, with a bundle of firewood tucked under one arm, an axe hanging loose in one hand, and a bucket in the other, and her pace quickened before the avid multitasker could take notice of her.

She reached the tree line at a near jog, stifling her sniffles until she had made her way a decent distance into the woods, and then her shameful sobbing was let loose again, but at least the sound would prevent any hunter from mistaking her for a turkey and lodging an arrow into her side (even if such a fate was preferable to being caught bawling). And since her crying refused to die down, she had no choice but to keep going, and she made her way deeper and deeper, leaving her tiny village behind, with nothing but trees between Father and her, just silent, uncaring trees, that slowed her progress as she meandered between them and climbed over downed logs, being careful as she crossed the stones over the calmer bend of the stream Father fished for trout in.

And then she proceeded beyond what was readily familiar to her, her tears still coming without thought, but reduced, at least, to a mere trickle now. She gave up wiping her face, reserving her hands for keeping her balance as she descended a slope, her feet slipping on the blanket of pine needles underfoot. Arms out from her sides, she picked her way down the embankment until the ground flattened out beneath her, just a long strip of level ground with steep slopes above and below, and now, propelled a bit more by curiosity than a mere need to flee, even if that was what had caused the majority of her trek out here, she stepped to the edge where the land dropped off again and leaned forward to get a better look at what lay below, in the deep valley between the mountain ridge whose slope she was standing on and the one across the way.

It was a long way down, the trees tall, but strangely spindly and sticking out of the ground at odd angles, the needles sparse on account of autumn, but still with the ability to provide a great deal of shade due to the sheer number and the way the slope created differing levels of them. Through their knobby branches, she could make out a stream, surely just another stretch of the same one she had passed earlier. She had never been out this far before, actually, as Father forbid it, for he, like most of the villagers, believed in the rumors about this place, but she had heard that heavy rainstorms or the snowmelt in spring would turn that normally docile stream below into quite a violent river as the water collected in the valley, though she wasn't sure how anyone would really know that when most were too stricken with fear at the stories that came from this neck of the pine woods to venture out here in the first place.

Shrugging, Wren took a careful step forward, ensuring she had a firm foothold before she began to make her way down the slope, this one steeper than the last. She used the trees to aid in her balance, and she descended the mountainside with utmost precision, and as she fell into shadow, she began to take notice of a chill that gave her goose bumps, while at the same time realizing she had also been overtaken by a silence not typical of a forest filled with wildlife.

The birds had gone silent, she realized, even though it was a bit early, as the sun had only just begun to dip towards the horizon. She still had a good hour left before nightfall, which was just enough time to get back if she didn't dilly-dally. And even if she _was_ caught out in the woods after dark, she would be close to home by then anyway. She just had to get a better look at the place everyone said was haunted, and so far, she wasn't impressed.

Just because it was a bit gloomy, the chill likely caused by that same fact, it certainly didn't make it haunted. Her own bedroom was dark and cold at night, and never did she find any signs of a ghost. The only time she said she had was just to scare Lilli. And she definitely didn't hear the sounds people claimed to hear out here, either, which were most likely just their imaginations or a group of kids playing a joke.

Well, come to think of it, one noise _had_ met her ears just now, but it was simply the quiet trickle of the stream as it moved about the stones below. Muted, probably because of all the trees, but it was still just an ordinary stream. How terrifying.

The corners of her mouth turned up just the smallest amount, even if her eyes didn't seem to notice. Oh, the fun Boar and she could've had out here. _He_ never believed in the stories, either. They just never journeyed out here because they knew how serious Father was that they stay away. He _still_ felt as strongly about the place, of course, but right now, she really didn't care.

Wren's half-felt grin was wiped from her face, her eyes growing wide, as her foot slipped on a rock and, unable to catch her footing as she lost her grip on the tree nearby when the loose bark crumbled free, she fell, releasing an involuntary scream borne of equal parts shock and pain as she struck the jagged rocks jutting out from beneath the soil during the early phases of the mad tumble that followed, her hands reaching out for something to grab onto, but only meeting with grass that tore out in her grip or handfuls of dirt and pine needles. The air was knocked out of her when her stomach met a tree, her unorthodox manner of descending the hill coming to an end as she clutched an aching stomach.

She lay on her side, panting with her mouth open as she watched the stream playing about the rocks with no purpose but aimless travel only ten or so feet in front of her, her heartbeat pounding in her ears until her breathing finally slowed along with it. She groaned as she twisted about to set hands beneath her that stung when the dirt got into cuts and scrapes as she pushed herself up. Once on her feet, she wiped hands covered in soil and pine needles off on already soiled pants, finding red beneath the dirt that continued to cling to the palms of her hands in a thin layer, but what was most alarming of all was the long gash on her right forearm and the blood running out to mix with the dirt her limb had picked up. She attempted to wipe away as much of the dirt as she could when she went stiff, and her eyes shot up to stare ahead of her. Just now, she could have sworn she had heard something, but it wasn't the stream this time.

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><p>Things are finally starting to get interesting, no? And I obviously have no idea how creating weapons and stuff works, nor have I the patience to do any research into the matter.<p>

Please review.


	4. Chapter 4: The Man in the Woods

I swear we're finally getting to something.

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><p><strong>Chapter 4: The Man in the Woods<strong>

Lifting her head further to get a view less obscured by disheveled hair, Wren's eyes met with nothing more than the tranquil, gurgling stream set against the backdrop of silent pines, all as it should be, and a glance to the right proved there to be nothing out of place in that direction, either. She turned her attention next to the left to ensure she wasn't missing anything _that_ way, only for her head to jerk back to the stream almost with a mind of its own.

She was certain she had just seen something, a flash of red as her gaze swept past. She couldn't miss it, so vibrant it was in contrast to the dull, grey trees and the varied browns of dry soil and dying pine needles. She had just spotted a figure, standing on the other side of the stream, watching her. But, they were gone now, no sign left, and she could only conclude that she had fallen victim to the same hallucinations that had afflicted so many fools before her who had had the misfortune of wandering out to this forsaken valley in the middle of nowhere. She had been away from home far too long anyway. It was time to leave.

She took a hesitant step backwards, unwilling to take her eyes off the stream and what lay beyond, where the figure she had surely not really seen had been. She closed a mouth she had found left open, and her lips formed themselves into a frown. Don't be an idiot, Wren. You'll be hard pressed to climb back up that slope _facing_ it, let alone backwards, so relax. You're just imagining things, plain and simple.

Licking her lips with a tongue that was suddenly much too dry, Wren froze at the thought of having to turn her back on the stream. She forced herself to blink, and when that failed to conjure up any more apparitions, she made a slow turn, her gaze falling behind her body as she continued to watch the calm waters a short distance away, but when her head caught up with the rest of her, she jumped back with a yelp, finding herself one step away from walking into something that was definitely not a tree.

"You took quite a fall. You really must be more careful. If you were…injured this far out in the woods, it would be quite some time before anyone found you."

Her hands jumped to her waist and patted about at her belt before her heart leapt at the realization that she had failed to bring her sword, and she started to back away, refusing to take her eyes off the man standing before her. At least, she _thought_ he was human, except that his skin was much too pale and his hair was white despite the fact that he appeared to be no more than a couple years her elder. Her eyes darted for only a moment to the long fabric draped about his shoulders like a cape, taking note of its color, a much too familiar red.

The man looked down a delicate nose at her, a lazy grin on his face as he watched her with a gaze that was much too intense and which seemed to be peering into her to such a degree that she felt for a second that he was studying her innermost thoughts, as if they were spelled out in front of him, and then he strode forward, and she stumbled backwards in a renewed desperation to get away from him, even if he seemed to be in no hurry to reach her, despite the purposefulness in which he approached her.

Her entire body jolted as her back hit something, and she went stock still as he continued towards her, her breath becoming caught in her throat.

"Don't worry," the man continued. "It's just a tree. Even if most of the things in these woods bite, they are not one of them." He chuckled, but whether it be at his own words or at her obvious terror, she didn't have the clarity of mind right now to guess at which it could be. She pressed her back harder against the tree behind her, willing herself to somehow gain the ability to go right through it, but her wish was not granted when he stopped before her and extended a slender, gloved hand.

"Let me see your arm."

She stared at him. His eyes were black, at least, the one that wasn't covered by his long bangs. She had never seen such dark eyes before.

"There's no need to be afraid. I am also one of the few things out here that doesn't bite. Gentleman don't typically nibble on people. It has a way of making one seem rather uncivilized."

His smile grew, and yet there was something about the tone of his voice, the eerier intensity in his eyes, that made his words seem less than sincere. She watched him longer, but when she caught the slightest bit of impatience in those cold, dark eyes, rimmed with what appeared to be purple eye shadow, of all things, she held out a hesitant arm, her left one, for if any harm was to befall one of her limbs, it may as well be the one she was marginally less fond of.

"The other one. I distinctly remember that it was your right arm. I make a habit of being observant, you see. It's a trait _you_ would do well to nurture, as well, as it would, perhaps, prevent you from falling into any more rocks in the future."

He wiggled his fingers at her, his smile faltering just the slightest degree, until it returned with renewed strength when she presented him with the correct limb, and he took hold of her wrist with one hand, the other moving to grab her elbow. He began to inspect the gash on her arm, and she attempted to jerk it away when he pulled it closer to his face, but his grip didn't loosen, and her goose bumps returned when she felt his hot breath ghosting over her skin. She curled the fingers of her hand, and her nails dug into her palm to create new cuts as she breathed through her nose, trying her best to remain silent until this whole ordeal could be over.

"Yes, I knew I smelled blood," he said to himself, eyes nearly closed. He sounded almost…breathless. His voice picked up again, as if just now remembering her presence, "I'm sure this must have been quite painful."

Her heart began to pound harder than ever, for, though his bangs currently obscured much of his face, she thought she caught him lick his lips with a tongue that seemed far too thin and pointed. She tugged on her arm again, this time with more success, and it slipped though his fingers, and she held her limb to her chest and clutched it with her other hand in some unspoken vow that she would be keeping it to herself from here on out.

He retracted the fingers of his hands, still with his attention directed on them, and she noticed that his earlier smile was gone, only to return when he giggled, lifting his gaze back to her as his hands lowered to his sides. "Is _that_ why you were crying?"

"I-I wasn't!" Without thinking, she wiped her face with one hand, cursing herself inwardly even as she was in the middle of it for proving him right with such a gesture, and he chuckled yet again.

"So you _can_ talk. I was beginning to think you were clumsy _and_ mute."

"I'm not…I'm not clumsy." Wren sidestepped the tree, finding herself clear to continue her earlier retreat, but this only caused him to follow yet again in his frighteningly relaxed manner. This time, however, he didn't even bother to watch her, instead dropping his gaze to brush away dirt from the palms of his hands that he had no doubt collected in his inspection of her.

"You really ought to clean that wound of yours," he said. "It'll surely get infected if you continue to gallivant about like a begrimed savage. Though, if you had been as observant as I am, then you would know there's a stream just behind you that is quite well-suited for such an endeavor."

The stream in question turned out to be closer than she had expected when one boot landed in it, and she lost her balance with the sudden change in footing, her arms windmilling about until she fell, hard, her back end, boots, and hands now all within a stream that continued to flow on just the same, the addition of a roughed-up teen meaning nothing to it. The sound of laughter greeted her, a throaty chortle, and she gritted her teeth when she found the man whom had been harassing her to now be chuckling harder than ever with his arms crossed about him and one hand to his mouth in much the same prissiness as Lilli always practiced.

"Well, there's more than one way to go about it," he said through a break in his mirth.

"It's not funny!" She smacked the water for emphasis, and she blinked and squinted when droplets landed in one eye, her outburst only serving to throw him into an even greater fit. "Stop laughing at me!"

What was this ninny even doing out here in the first place? He looked like he would be far better suited to life in a palace than out in such a forgotten spot in the wilderness. By the goddesses, winter was coming, and he was showing more skin than should ever be legal for a boy! The clothing beneath his cape, or whatever it was, was so tight as to be scandalous, and from this angle, she had the misfortune to take notice of diamond cutouts running up and down his legs that went, frankly, much too high. She couldn't deny that he was in good shape, though, based on how thin he was, not at all bulky like most men were, but… Wait, what was she saying?

"Hey!" she said, louder than ever when his girlish giggles didn't seem to be stopping. "Don't…don't you know there are wolfos in these woods? Nighttime's coming, and you're not even armed!"

This seemed to be enough to get his attention, and he stared at her with eyes half covered, sly grin gracing his face, "Neither are you."

It was her turn to be silent, and her earlier scowl only deepened at the fact that this…this weirdo actually had the nerve to point out her supposed shortcoming when he couldn't possibly understand _why_ she had neglected to bring a sword and at the realization that he had a point. She huffed before going about the necessary next step in getting out of this stream and as far away from him as possible, but her efforts at returning to an upright position failed when her hand slipped on a particularly smooth stone, sending her face first back into the stream.

She pushed herself out of the water again with arms that had met with more sure purchase this time, and she spluttered and shook her head as wet hair clung to her face. At last, she stood, and stayed standing, and she attempted to rid herself of as much moisture as possible by shaking her hands at her sides and flicking the water from her fingers. With a heaving chest, she blew the last droplets from her lips before leering over at the man standing all nice and dry on the shore, and he simply raised his eyebrows at her and gave one, single amused chuckle.

"What, aren't you going to laugh at me some more?" she asked, but he remained silent, his only response to hold out one hand to her in a half-felt gesture.

"I'd help you out, but I suspect you won't let me come any closer."

"You suspected right! Now why don't you just get lost and leave me alone!" She began to stomp along parallel to the shoreline, well aware of how utterly ridiculous she looked, a thought that was only ten times worse considering such a display was taking place in front of a _boy_, of all things, but she wasn't coming any closer to him than she had to. Once she had put enough distance between the two of them, she returned to dry land with soaked and heavy clothes that clung to her legs and waist, but she refused to shiver. Not in front of a prat like him.

Wren turned back to the garishly dressed man with the best scowl she could muster, but the expression was short-lived, her heartbeat again taking up the drumbeat of earlier as she found herself under the scrutiny of icy cold eyes that would put her father's to shame, eyes that left her feeling naked and exposed, a notion that gave her a chill just as the knot that had been hanging in her stomach since she had caught that flash of red in the outskirts of her vision tightened as she saw the sun nearing the horizon. She stared as he sauntered towards her, no trace of his earlier smile present on his pale face, and while a lump formed in her throat as he drew nearer, she didn't dare turn tail and run, either, even if that's what her mind was screaming at her to do. This was the part of the woods where all the frightening stories came from, the ones parents used to keep children from wandering off at night, and if this…whatever he was had anything to do with them, it was no surprise this place had gained the reputation it had.

"Your manners are painfully lacking, girl," he said as he tossed his bangs with a flip of his head, his words cold enough to incite frost.

Wren took a step back, but she was halted from retreating any further when his hand shot forward to grab her by the chin tight enough that she almost thought she heard her teeth creak. She gasped as much from pain as from his touch as he tilted her head up to face him as he loomed over her, and she was forced to stare into those soulless eyes that held no warmth even as his lips twitched into some semblance of a smile. His grip tightened when she struggled, and his other hand rose to brush her wet hair from her face. And then he released her, his hand withdrawing to his chest as she blinked up at him, but her feet remained rooted to the spot while her heart pounded in her ears.

The edge of his lips twisted further into a smirk as he continued, "But, if you had known whom you were addressing, perhaps you wouldn't have been so impertinent. If you had any sense, that is. _Do_ you have any sense?"

Without thinking, her head turned halfway to the side before the gesture turned instead into a nod.

A single laugh, and he said, "If that were so, then you wouldn't be out here, now would you?"

Mind currently unable to comprehend the question, she nodded again.

His purple eyelids lowered further to study her with less sharpness than before, only to leave her when his gaze rolled up to peer off behind her. "Don't you have a bedtime you're going to be late for?"

She opened her mouth, then, closed it. He was tall, about Boar's height. About the same age as when he disappeared, too. At least, she thought so, even when his youthful face bore a quality that made his exact age hard to guess, and she felt her heart fluttering in a manner different from earlier.

His attention returned to her, and he jerked his head in the direction she had arrived here by. "What are you waiting for? Get going. The sun will be gone soon, and that can only mean that all the things that bite will be waking up before long. And for someone who can't stop tripping over their own feet, I should think you would want to return home doubly fast."

She took a slow step back, footsteps heavy as lips attempted to mouth words that refused to come out, but he was no longer watching her with his black eyes, eyes that were shut to the world, and to her, as one hand rose to absently smooth down his bangs.

She turned and began to run, and she didn't look back, not even after she had scrambled up the steep slope she had fallen down what felt like an eternity ago, her pace turning into a veritable frenzy as she began to make a dash for her village as soon as the ground leveled off, darkness ahead of her and darkness growing behind, and it felt like an almost physical force was propelling her onward, to put as much distance between the valley and herself as she could while she worried her heart was going to come bursting forth from the cage of her chest at any moment.

She arrived back home with ragged breath, which, when combined with dirty and unkempt clothing, offered clear evidence of her disobedience, and she slid to the ground and sat beside the door to her house, underneath a window that released candlelight like a token of warmth offered to an uncaring night. And even when her lungs had finally settled down, her heart didn't, and its beat was only sent into another fit when the front door opened and Lilli emerged, looking all about before her eyes fell on her, and Wren gave the excuse that she had just been thinking, an explanation which was only half true and which her sister didn't question, even if she certainly didn't believe it, either.

Father had already retired to his room for the night, and Wren refused her sister's offer of cold pheasant left over from dinner, Boar's favorite. Well, except for the cold part. With crossed arms to hide her injuries from prying eyes, she shuffled upstairs to her room and got into bed with her tunic and pants still on, not to mention still a little damp, but at least her unexpected bath had washed much of the dirt away, leaving her trek out not quite as obvious otherwise. She pulled the blankets to her neck, as much to hide her choice of clothing from Lilli, who arrived shortly after, as to have something more substantial between her and the darkness that seemed closer tonight than ever before.

And long after her sister's breathing had slowed to the pace of slumber, Wren continued to stare at the wall as she tried without success to rid her mind of that man's face, the cold smile that paled still in comparison to the eyes, the eyes that were blacker than her most terrifying nightmares, eyes that contained the frightening promise to swallow her up if she couldn't stop staring into them, but she couldn't, no matter how much she wanted to. And she remembered with reluctant clarity the feel of his breath on her arm and the shiver that shot down her spine when he brushed her hair aside with a gentle touch that contradicted the danger she could feel emanating from him. No, Wren could not stop thinking about him, the enigmatic man in the woods.

* * *

><p>Hooray, Ghirahim has finally made his way into the story! Does that not fill your heart with rainbows? (Is that overused or what? I won't even ask you how that makes me feel….) I hope I did an okay job writing for him. I've always found him to be very difficult, even when he's quite fun.<p>

Anyway, please review, my dearies.


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